


Cover me and throw me a lifeline

by flutterflap



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Deckerstar Network Trick or Devil Halloween Exchange, F/M, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, I wanted to do fluffy but everything is so messed up right now, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Post 3x04 What Would Lucifer Do?, Reveal, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-27 19:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12589064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutterflap/pseuds/flutterflap
Summary: Chloe hadn’t been planning to go to Lux’s Halloween party. For one thing, it was a murder mystery party, something she had a hard and fast rule against. She solved real crimes for a living, and didn’t need to spend her free time solving imaginary ones. For another, she usually avoided going out on Halloween; the parties got a little too crazy a little too fast for her taste. And then there was the fact that the host of this particular party had been acting like a grade-A jerk for the last few weeks.***For magicwithcolors on Tumblr for the Deckerstar Network Trick or Devil Halloween Exchange. My prompt was "melodramatic."Title from Jens Kuross,"Spiraling"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many extra special thanks to [Antarctic_Echoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antarctic_Echoes/pseuds/Antarctic_Echoes) for the brainstorming session to get me started, and [Skaoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaoi/pseuds/skaoi) for the beta. You guys are the greatest!

Lucifer wasn’t really in the mood for a party. 

Truth be told, he wasn’t in the mood for much of anything.

After Amenadiel left the penthouse, chased away by cruel words that left a bitter taste in the back of Lucifer’s throat, he’d sat back down at the piano and tried to play. It usually soothed him, but every note sounded wrong, dissonant. He slammed the cover down over the keys and poured himself a drink, downing it in one gulp and glaring over the rim the glass at the Steinway. 

He resisted the urge to throw the empty glass at it. He still cared enough about the piano, at least, not to want to damage it. Instead, he refilled the glass, drained it again, left it on the bar and took the bottle out to the balcony. He finished it while he watched night fall over Los Angeles.

He stayed shut up on the penthouse for the rest of the week, brooding.Nothing on TV could distract him. He had the piano tuned, but the notes still rang flat in his ears, and offered little solace. He considered calling a dominatrix he knew, thinking a good beating might snap him out of it, but he didn’t want punishment. Not from a stranger, at any rate.

So he sat on the couch and drank, and couldn’t sleep even though he was exhausted, and pretended not to notice that his phone remained silent and dark. When Saturday came he put on his costume, pasted on a smile, and went downstairs, because it was Halloween and he had a reputation to maintain.

He took a moment in the shadows to gather himself. Then he smoothed his suit, adjusted his cravat, and stepped onto the stage that had been set up in front of the DJ booth. The music stopped, and a hush fell over the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he purred into the microphone. “Welcome to Lux.”

***

Chloe hadn’t been planning to go to Lux’s Halloween party. For one thing, it was a murder mystery party, something she had a hard and fast rule against. She solved real crimes for a living, and didn’t need to spend her free time solving imaginary ones. For another, she usually avoided going out on Halloween; the parties got a little too crazy a little too fast for her taste. And then there was the fact that the host of this particular party had been acting like a grade-A jerk for the last few weeks. After all his talk about not wanting to go backward in that message he’d left her, he’d certainly been doing a lot of it—letting her believe he was actually going to open up to her, and then—well, she didn’t know what that had been, that day in the lab; bailing on her in the middle of a case, not to mention practically destroying said case; disappearing for days at a time without calling, probably because he’d been in the middle of some massive orgy.

So it was rather against her better judgment that she let Maze, Ella, and Linda cajole her—or threaten her, in Maze’s case—into going. After all, Ella had pointed out, Halloween wasn’t until Monday, so she’d still be able to take Trixie trick-or-treating and spend the evening watching scary movies with her on the couch, and the costume she’d gotten to go with Trixie’s worked just as well on its own—even without accepting Maze’s offer to “sex it up.” She’d grudgingly agreed to come, and promised herself she wouldn’t let things get out of control the way they had the last time the four of them went out together.

It was already crowded when they got there, people lining up down the block to get in. “Oh,” Ella breathed when they got inside, looking around. “ _Wow._

Chloe had to admit she was impressed. Lux was decked out like a gothic castle, the sleek modern tables and chairs shrouded in old-fashioned covers and adorned with heavy, antique lamps and candelabras. Realistic looking cobwebs clung to the corners of the room and along railings, and from somewhere a fog machine pumped smoke out to swirl around the guests’ legs. Lucifer was dressed to match, in a Victorian suit with a silvery lavender brocade vest and cravat. Chloe’s breath gave a little hitch at the sight of him when he stepped onto the stage to welcome them. _God, he’s gorgeous._ The thought came unbidden, and she scowled. _Stop it,_ she told herself sternly. Whatever had been about to happen between them, he’d made clear that he didn’t want it, and Chloe didn’t have the slightest desire to go chasing after someone who didn’t return her interest. Especially not someone with the attention span of a goldfish. _It was a mistake, anyway,_ she thought, and turned her attention back to the stage.

“You’re brave to set foot within these walls on All Hallow’s Eve,” Lucifer said. Chloe rolled her eyes at his melodramatic tone, but she couldn’t help but be drawn in as he continued. “You see, there are ghosts among us.” The lights flickered, and a knocking sounded from the walls. Lucifer glanced toward it, and then out over the now-hushed crowd, lowering his voice even further. “Unquiet souls haunt these halls.” 

Despite herself, Chloe shivered. She glanced at Ella, who grinned and gestured at her costume with excitement. She was wearing a blonde wig, styled in a messy pompadour, a brown and orange jumpsuit, and round glasses with yellow lenses. Chloe grinned back, shaking herself. _There’s no such things as ghosts,_ she thought, and then slanted another glance at Ella. _And if there are, at least I’m with one of the Ghostbusters._

“I’ve asked you all here tonight for a reason,” Lucifer continued. “On this night when the boundaries between the living and the dead are at their thinnest, I’m hoping you all can help lay these souls to rest.” He explained that hidden around the club were clues to not one, but several murders that had taken place over the centuries. In addition, he encouraged the guests to talk to the “ghosts” themselves—several of his dancers were circulating among the the crowd, in pale makeup and diaphanous gowns. They had until midnight to solve the mystery, or the ghosts would remain restless for another year.

There was scattered applause as he stepped down, and the music started back up, along with excited chatter from the crowd as guests began investigating the items set out on the tables with new curiosity. Beside Chloe, Ella was fairly bouncing on her toes.

“This is so much fun!” she cried, seizing Chloe’s wrist. “Come on, let’s see what clues she can find.”

Chloe laughed, but gently pulled away from Ella’s grip. “Definitely not. I get enough crime-solving at work. I’m getting a drink.”

Ella’s face fell, but she brightened when Linda said, “I’ll come with you, Ella. I’m intrigued. And I have the right costume for it.” She adjusted her red hat and trench coat.

Maze frowned at her. “Isn’t Carmen Sandiego a thief?”

Linda opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, Ella pulled her away. She gave a shrug and a wave. Maze watched them wade into the crowd, and then raised an eyebrow at Chloe. “Drink?” she asked.

“Drink,” Chloe agreed.

Lucifer found them at the bar and bowed over Chloe’s hand, still playing his character to the hilt. “Detective. Or should I say General Organa?” he asked, eyeing her costume. “Only you could make khaki look quite so fetching, my dear.”

Beside her, Maze snorted, but Chloe barely noticed the comment. Up close, Lucifer looked . . . haggard. He was as impeccably groomed as ever, his hair smooth, eyeliner carefully applied, but makeup couldn’t completely conceal the dark circles under his eyes, or the pallor of his skin. There was a heaviness to his movements, too, that she hadn’t quite seen from afar. She reached for his hand as he turned away to greet another guest. “Hey.” She waited for him to look at her. “Are you okay?”

He looked down at her hand wrapped around his. Something raw and pained flashed across his face, but then his expression shuttered again and he pulled his hand away. His lips stretched into a paper-thin smile. “Fine. Enjoy the party, Detective,” he said, and let himself be drawn off into the crowd. 

Chloe watched him go, frowning. “Do you know what’s going on with him?” she asked Maze.

Maze shrugged. She’d been away all week after another bounty, and seemed to have been keeping her distance from him lately. Whatever had passed between them recently, it had chilled their relationship. But Chloe didn’t didn’t think that was why he seemed so—so _brittle_ tonight.

She felt a stab of guilt that she’d let the week go by without checking in on him. She’d been preoccupied after Pierce’s shooting, and hurt and angry at Lucifer’s recent behavior, but it was unusual for him to go more then a day or two without at least sending her a stupid text, or bothering her about their next case. She had every right to be angry with him—Lucifer hadn’t exactly been open and honest with her—but he was her friend, and her partner, and it bothered her now that she had only thought the worst of him when he’d started acting more like the Lucifer Morningstar she’d met two years ago than the Lucifer Morningstar she’d come to know and care for.

She spotted Amenadiel at the other end of the bar and made her way over to him. He wasn’t in costume, or even particularly dressed up. He stared into his drink with a dejected air, barely seeming to notice the party going on around him.

Chloe took a seat on the empty stool beside him. “What’s wrong with your brother?” she asked.

Amenadiel grimaced. “What _isn’t_ wrong with my brother?”

That almost made her laugh. She sipped her whiskey and soda and studied him over the rim of her glass for a moment. The man sitting beside her now seemed very different from the one she’d met at that auction two years ago: more subdued, less sure of himself. Chloe didn’t know him well enough to have a real read on his relationship with his brother, but she thought there was real affection there, even with all the tension between them, their whispered arguments, Lucifer’s clear distrust. 

Amenadiel finished his drink and waved the bartender over. When his glass had been refilled, he said, “I realized recently how lonely he must be.” He glanced at her. “He doesn’t have very many friends.”

Chloe glanced around and found Lucifer in the crowd. He was surrounded by a group of admirers, passing out favors, hinting and teasing, but he moved on before long, never letting himself get drawn into conversation for long. She thought about that long list of men and women she had interviewed about him, how he didn’t think of the people he slept with as anything like friends, how they had all called their time with him as meaningless, and felt her stomach knot a little more with guilt. “No,” she agreed. “He doesn’t.” And lately he’d been doing his damnedest to put distance between himself and the few friends he did have, she realized.

“I used to think my father sent me to Los Angeles to bring him back—” He broke off. After a moment he went on, “Now I think he sent me here to look out for him.” He followed Chloe’s gaze toward Lucifer. “Luci thinks I’m giving him too much credit.”

Chloe gave a soft snort, partly in response to the diminutive, partly because she agreed with Lucifer. “You told him that?” she asked.

Amenadiel nodded. “We argued. He said some things. He— He’s trying to push me away.” He paused. “He’s very angry.”

Chloe bit back the obvious reply. Of course Lucifer would be angry, if Amenadiel let him think the only reason his brother was sticking around was to please their father—the father Lucifer hated. Apparently, being an idiot about relationships ran in the family. Instead she asked. “Is that different than normal?”

Amenadiel shrugged. “It’s worse. He— Something’s happened, and he’s—” He frowned, and then closed his eyes, as if just realizing something. “I think he’s frightened.”

Chloe opened her mouth to ask why, but before she could, an earsplitting scream split the air, followed by the unmistakeable sound of gunshots, and all the lights went out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: This chapter contains discussion of domestic violence.
> 
> Many thanks to [Skaoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaoi/pseuds/skaoi) for the beta, and for the suggestion that helped me figure out where this chapter was going.

A wave of cries and gasps broke over the room. Chloe dug in her pocket for her phone and turned on the flashlight. Around her, others were doing the same, and in a few seconds the room was lit with a shifting, eerie blue light that cast ominous shadows. 

“Is anybody hurt?” she shouted, shining her light around. The mood in the club seemed more confused than panicked, as people tried to get their bearings. There were no more screams, no cries for help.

A woman standing near Chloe at the bar asked, “Is this part of the party?” 

Chloe spared her a disdainful glance. “No.” She dialed dispatch, scanning the room as she did. Amenadiel was on his feet beside her doing the same, his expression anxious. She spotted a familiar tall figure edging through the crowd and went after him, Amenadiel close on her heels.

Lucifer disappeared through the doorway at the other end of the bar that led into the back. Chloe and Amenadiel emerged into the dark hallway just in time to see a man in a skeleton mask dash out of a door halfway down and flee toward the glowing exit sign at the far end of the hall. Amenadiel tore after him. Chloe ran to the door he had emerged from.

“Hello?” She shone her light into the room. It illuminated a row of vanities, cluttered with makeup and personal items. The mirrors reflected her light back at her, and another, she realized after a moment. A soft glow coming from somewhere behind her. “Lucifer?”

In response, she heard a pained whimper, followed by Lucifer’s anguished voice: “Oh, no. Oh, Lara. No, no, no.” 

“Lucifer?” she called again, alarmed. She followed his voice toward the glow that seemed to be emanating from the corner of the room, behind a cluster of plush couches. She came up short when she drew close, inhaling sharply.

One of the dancers from the club lay sprawled on the floor, a dark pool rapidly spreading down the front of her filmy white dress. Lucifer dropped to his knees beside her, and as Chloe watched, he gently lifted her into his lap.

“Lucifer?” Her voice was so weak Chloe could barely make it out. Blood spilled down her chin as she spoke.

“I’ve got you.” He cradled her against his chest. “It’s all right. You’re going to be all right.”

But she wasn’t, Chloe could see that. Blood pulsed from at least two wounds in her chest. Her breathing was getting more labored by the second.

Lucifer seemed to know, too. After a few moments he gave up trying to stem her bleeding and just held her, rocking her gently. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

“I’m scared.”

“Shhh.” He smoothed her hair with a trembling hand. Tears spilled down his cheeks. “You’ve nothing to be scared of, love. There’s no pain where you’re going.”

“How do you know?”

He gave a wavering smile, cupped her cheek. “I’m the Devil, remember? I know.”

A pained, breathy laugh. “No . . . such thing.”

He shifted, and the glow that surrounded them brightened. Chloe felt her mouth drop open, her throat close.

On his back a pair of enormous, shining white wings opened. 

Lara looked up at them. A gasp escaped her, but there was no pain in the sound, only wonder. She smiled, her eyes shining. “You’re an angel,” she breathed.

Lucifer’s breath caught in something that sounded almost like a sob. “No.” He shook his head. “I haven’t been that for a very long time.”

But she was already gone.

***

Lucifer knelt on the floor, blood soaking into the knees of his trousers, and held Lara tight. He had promised her she would be safe here. He’d given his word, and now she lay dead in his arms, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Her body just an empty shell, now; he had felt her soul depart. Still, he couldn’t make himself let go of her. He bowed his head, his jaw clenched, his throat aching.

“Lucifer?” 

The sound of Chloe’s voice, low and shaking, pulled him back to the room. He looked up to find her staring, her gaze fixed over his shoulder, her eyes wide. 

The ache in Lucifer’s throat sank down to his chest as he realized what she was looking at. He hadn’t even been aware of unfurling his wings. He closed his eyes. He’d been trying to find a way to tell her, to _prove_ who he was to her, had even considered showing her his wings—but of all possible times, why did it have to be _now?_

He was so bloody _tired_.

Chloe’s gaze shifted to his face. She took a hesitant step toward him. “Lucifer?” she asked again.“What—?” She swallowed hard. “What’s going on?”

He closed his eyes again, just for a moment, to gather himself. He took a deep breath, folded his wings and let them vanish. Chloe jumped a little, let out a strangled gasp, her eyes still wide. Lucifer carefully lowered Lara to the floor and got to his feet.

“Detective,” he began.

“Luci?” Amenadiel’s voice interrupted, calling from the hallway.

Lucifer turned toward the sound, glad for the distraction. “In here!” he called. A moment later his brother appeared in the doorway, dragging a pale young man dressed in all black, both arms behind his back. He tossed the cheap plastic skeleton mask to the floor. The young man followed.

A wave of heat welled up in Lucifer’s chest at the sight of Lara’s killer, burning away the cold knot of sorrow that had settled there. He forgot everything—forgot his brother, forgot the detective, forgot his wings—in the sheer, incandescent rage that swept over him. His lip curled. “You,” he breathed. If he’d still had his devil form, his eyes would have flashed red, his human features melted away. Even so, the young man shrank from him, his face growing even paler. Lucifer may not have his true face any longer, but he had all the wrath of the Lord of Hell against evildoers. 

He hadn’t been able to protect Lara, but at least he could punish her killer. 

“P—please,” the man stammered, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Lucifer advanced on him, eyes flashing. “Please?” he repeated. “Did she say that when you held a gun in her face?” He flung a table away from him as he passed it. “Did she say that when you hit her?”

He flinched and scrambled backward across the floor, tears coming into his eyes. “I’m sorry!” 

Lucifer sneered. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” He reached for him, wrapped one hand around the man’s throat and lifted him up. He made a strangled sound, scrabbling at Lucifer’s fingers, but his grip was implacable.

“Luci . . .” Amenadiel said, but Lucifer ignored him. He shook the man dangling in his grasp.

“It wasn’t enough to beat her, to terrorize her, to refuse to leave her alone. You had to kill her, too.” He released his grip and watched him stagger backwards, rubbing his throat with one hand and holding the other up beseechingly as Lucifer stalked after him. “I’m sorry!” he cried. “Please—please don’t—” 

Lucifer’s elbow struck his temple with a sharp crack and he dropped to the floor, groaning. He clenched his hand into a fist, nails biting into his palm. He drew his arm back.

“ _Lucifer!_ ”

He looked blankly at the hand wrapped around his elbow, followed the length of an arm to the detective’s face, her expression a mix of fear and determination. The roaring in his ears lessened a little as her face came into focus. He became aware of his breathing, harsh and rapid.

She squeezed his arm. “That’s enough. Let the police handle this.”

All at once his rage boiled over again. He flung her hand away. “Why?” he demanded. “Why should I? The LAPD couldn’t protect her from him. None of your restraining orders could keep him away from her. He nearly beat her to death and all he got was a slap on the wrist. She came to _me_ for help!” His throat closed on his next words. _She came to me for help, and I couldn’t protect her, either._

A roar rose up in his throat and he whirled away from her, aiming a savage kick at the figure curled on the floor. Amenadiel stepped in front of him before he could strike, forcing Lucifer to back away.

“Chloe’s right,” he said. He placed his hands on Lucifer’s shoulders, attempting to soothe him. “This isn’t Hell, brother. It’s not your job to punish the living.”

Lucifer glared and shrugged his brother’s hands away, but he paced away from the murderer groaning on the floor, back toward where Lara lay, still and growing cold. _Not fair_ , he thought, trying to control the trembling that had crept into his limbs. _Not fair. Why is he still alive and she’s dead?_ Another inarticulate sound of grief and rage tore out of him. He struck the flat of his hand against the wall, felt it buckle under his palm.

The low drone of a phone vibrating cut through the air. “That’s Ella,” Chloe said. Lucifer didn’t answer. He kept his back turned, his eyes on Lara’s body at his feet, leaning on the wall for support. “I’m going to tell her where we are so she can send the backup team to us.” She paused. When he didn’t say anything, she prompted, “Okay?”

He looked over his shoulder at her in surprise. She met his gaze squarely, the phone now held at her ear. Why was she looking at him like that? Like she cared, when he had shown her what a monster he was? She didn’t break eye contact. 

At last he gave a jerky nod. “Very well.” His voice broke on the words.

She nodded back, and gave directions to Ella on the other end of the line.

***

Someone found the circuit box and the lights came back on. The dressing room filled with people and voices and noise, even more oppressive than the party in the club had been. Lucifer sank down onto one of the couches and let the by-now-familiar activities of a crime scene wash over him. Rage had given way to numbness and a tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe. He watched a forensics team gather around Lara’s body, taking pictures and samples. Her murderer was handcuffed and taken away. Sometime later, so was she, shrouded in black and rolled away on a stretcher.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there when Ella and Linda appeared. Ella sat on the arm of the sofa, slid one arm behind his back, and pulled him into a hug, resting her chin on his head. “I’m so sorry for your friend,” she said.

He stiffened, but instead of pulling away, she only tightened her arms around him. He let himself relax into her. “Thank you.” 

Linda sat on his other side, leaving some space between them, and took his hand. “What happened?” she asked.

He could only shake his head. His eyes strayed the pool of blood on the floor again.

“Abusive ex-boyfriend,” Chloe said, joining them. “He used the Halloween party to sneak into the club.” She knelt in front of Lucifer, taking his other hand. He stared at it. Her hand rested comfortably in his, and when he looked at her face, she was gazing at him with clear, sympathetic eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This should never have happened. We should have been able to keep her safe.” 

_We._ Like the failure of the LAPD was her responsibility. Like a lone detective could take on a problem that spanned every level of society, and _fix_ it. 

His vision blurred. He blinked, and hot tears fell onto Chloe’s hand, still clasping his.

“Hey.” She patted his arm. “It’s going to be awhile before they wrap things up here. Why don’t we go upstairs?”

He glanced around. The room was still buzzing with activity, people coming and going, talking on phones and radios, and all at once he wanted very much to be away from all the noise. He nodded. “Yes.”

His legs trembled when he got to his feet. Whatever energy he’d found to rally himself for the night, he felt utterly drained. His head ached. He let himself be guided from the room to the lift. In the penthouse he went for the bar, but Chloe steered him to the bedroom instead, sat him on the end of the bed, and eyed him critically, her arms folded across her chest.

“When was the last time you slept?”

He frowned up at her. “Detective, why are you doing this?”

“Why am I doing what?”

“This!” He indicated the room. “After you saw . . .” He gestured in a suggestion of wings. “Don’t you . . . I don’t know, have questions? An existential dilemma?”

“Both,” she said. “But they can wait.”

He blinked. “They can? But . . .”

“Lucifer.” She sat down next to him and took his hands again. “You have wings. Which is crazy. And I want to know what the hell is going on with you, but right now you’re not in any shape to have that conversation.” Her expression softened. “You just watched your friend die, Lucifer. And wherever you’ve been for the past week, whatever’s been going on with you . . .” She trailed off, looking down. “I’m sorry. You’ve been acting off. I should have noticed something was wrong.”

“ _You’re_ sorry?” What did she have to be sorry for?

She nodded. “And we need to talk. About—” She glanced at his back. “About everything. But not right now.”

“But—”

She cut him off with a scowl. “Are you Lucifer Morningstar?”

His brows drew together. He nodded, confused.

“My partner?”

Another nod.

“My friend? Who steals my daughter’s sandwiches and likes to dip potato chips in nutella?”

That startled a laugh from him. “Yes.”

She gave a decisive nod. “That’s all I need to know right now.” She pointed toward the bathroom. “Go. Shower. Sleep. Then we’ll talk.”

He looked in the direction she was pointing, and couldn’t help thinking how good a shower would feel right now. He didn’t think he could sleep, but at least he could wash away the physical traces of the night’s events.

When he didn’t move right away, she prodded his shoulder. “ _Go._ I’ll be right here.”

To his surprise, the assurance that she would stay loosened the tightness in his chest. He went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. :( One more chapter in about a week--I will try not to make it hurt as much.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving is nearly upon (some of) us, and I've only just managed to finish my Halloween fic. Many thanks for your patience while I juggled deadlines over the last couple weeks! I hope you enjoy this last installment!

Chloe made herself comfortable on the couch and listened to Lucifer get ready for bed: the water turning on and then off again, the tread of his bare feet on the rug, the click of the light, the rustle of fabric. She wanted to go check on him again, but she didn’t quite trust herself to. She knew he was in no shape for the talk they needed to have, and she’d meant what she’d said—she knew what she needed to know, and the rest could wait—but she was afraid that if she went back in his room before he was asleep she would demand answers despite herself. So she stayed where she was, listening to the thick nighttime silence that enveloped the penthouse once Lucifer was asleep and playing the night’s events over in her mind. 

One event, really. One moment: Lucifer, kneeling on the floor, a dying woman in his arms and a pair of shining white angel wings unfurling from his back.

Chloe’s breath caught again at the memory of them. They’d struck terror and wonder in her at the same time. Awe, in the biblical sense. And then she said his name and he closed his eyes they seemed so terribly, terribly heavy on his shoulders. She realized he’d been talking about them for weeks, saying he didn’t want them, and she’d barely listened, dismissed his cryptic ramblings as simply his Lucifer-ness, as nothing important. Hadn’t been able to see his pain.

She thought back to that day in the lab, when he’d said he wanted to tell her the truth about who he was. She’d thought he’d been playing a trick on her, had been angry at herself for letting her guard down with him _again_ , but now, removed from her own fear and embarrassment, she could see how little sense that made. He’d been worried, afraid to tell her, and genuinely distressed when . . . whatever it was, didn’t work. 

He’d been trying to prove to her what he’d been saying all along, and for some reason, he hadn’t been able to. Some reason he didn’t seem to understand.

_He’s really the Devil_ , she thought. The Devil, but not evil. _Evil_ didn’t fit with the grief-stricken man she’d seen last night, or his zeal for seeing justice done, even if his ideas about what that looked like could be strange and frightening.

All his weirdness, explained. How he’d managed to survive six shots in the back, Malcolm’s bullet in his gut, without a scratch. His unnatural strength, his ability to hypnotize people. _But why not me?_ The things he sometimes said, as if humans were some strange, separate species.

If he was the Devil, if the Devil was real, what did that mean? What else was real? Hell, obviously. Heaven? God? Was Amenadiel also an angel—and Maze, really a demon? _A demon who’s at home babysitting my daughter, and who I trust completely,_ she thought. _Because that makes sense._

It didn’t, but she trusted her gut. It was hard to fear things you didn’t believe in, she’d told Lucifer once. And there was no reason to fear someone who had made her allegiance clear, even if Chloe knew something about her today that she hadn’t yesterday.

At some point, she must have slept, too, because she found herself blinking awake just as dawn was washing the sky pink, her neck stiff and her cheek sticking to the leather cushion. The penthouse was still and quiet, and so, to her surprise, was her mind. The questions and speculations that had chased through her dreams had settled, leaving her feeling calm and clear.

Lucifer was still sleeping deeply when she checked on him, sprawled on his belly with the blanket tucked around one shoulder, leaving the other shoulder and half his back exposed. No sign of wings. No scars, either, she noticed with a start. The skin was smooth and unmarked. His hair was mussed, his face slack with sleep, more boyish and vulnerable than he let anyone see.

She watched him for a few moments, glad to see him resting, finally. He’d looked so tired last night, so lost. She’d felt a bit at sea herself, but standing there in his bedroom, she felt anchored. Secure. Whoever, whatever he was, he was still _Lucifer._ Her friend, her partner. Who made her a better detective. Who made her laugh.

Who’d been hurting, and lonely, and she’d been too wrapped up in her own anger and pain to see it.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there when he stirred, sighed, and opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, eyes still heavy. “’tective.” He looked out the window at the brightening sky, then back at her, standing in the doorway to the bedroom, and frowned. “You’re still here?” The words came out slurred with sleep. 

“Of course I’m still here.”

“Oh.” He rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. “I thought, after . . .” He waved a hand. 

“What?”

He pushed himself up to seated and looked at her, frowning, for long enough to make Chloe want to squirm. He was alert now, his eyes no longer bleary, but dark circles still bruised the skin beneath them. “Aren’t you frightened of me?” he said finally.

“What? Of course not.” Chloe couldn’t stop the astonished laugh that escaped her. “Why would I be afraid of you?”

“Because—!” He gestured. “I’m the Devil, Detective. You know, fire and brimstone and the root of all evil? Doesn’t that frighten you?”

His words squeezed in her chest. “Lucifer.” She crossed to the bed and sat down, reaching for his hand. He flinched a little when she touched him. She ran her thumb across his knuckles. “I admit, I have questions, and need to get used to the idea, but . . .” She shook her head. “You’re not _evil._ ” 

He stared down at her hand on his. “How do you know?” There was an edge of defiance to his voice, but the dominant tone was plaintive. As though he wanted to be convinced.

She thought about the scene in the dressing room the night before. Not the details of wings and supernatural strength that had preoccupied her dreams, but the way he’d comforted Lara as she died, his fury at her killer, at the LAPD’s failure to protect her from him. “Evil doesn’t get angry at injustice the way you do.” She squeezed his hand. “Evil isn’t kind.”

“‘m not kind,” he mumbled. She rolled her eyes.

“Now you’re just being stupid,” she said. 

His head snapped up, his eyes flashing, and she laughed, partly at his affronted expression, partly at the fact that she was sitting here reassuring _the Devil_ that he wasn’t really evil.

Her life had gotten very strange in the last 24 hours. Or maybe she’d only just realized how strange her life had gotten over the last two years.

“Come on.” She patted his hand. “How about some breakfast?” She could guess that he’d been living on whiskey for the last week. 

He glanced toward the bar. “I’m not hungry,” he said.

She shrugged. “I am. Where’s your kitchen?”

“Through there.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the library, and Chloe went to explore while he cast about for his robe and a drink. The stairs by the bookcase led to a short corridor that opened onto a spacious kitchen, with a dining table in front of the bank of windows to one side and a large prep area equipped with an eight burner stove, double ovens, and two sinks on the other. She wasn’t surprised to find the fridge well-stocked, and wondered as she stood in front of it how often he cooked. She knew he _could_ , but she seemed to see him eating out of vending machines and food trucks more often than anything else. Did he need to eat, or did he just like to?

He joined her in the kitchen a few minutes later, tumbler of whiskey in hand, and perched on a bar stool while she cracked eggs into a bowl and melted butter in a skillet. She looked up from what she was doing and pointed with the whisk at the fancy coffee maker taking up a large portion of the counter beside the refrigerator. “I have no idea how to work that thing,” she said with a laugh. “And I think we could both use some coffee.” 

That made him smile, and he set to work making coffee for both of them. It was nice, Chloe thought, making breakfast together—even if she was making scrambled eggs while _the Devil_ pulled espresso shots beside her. _Yes, perfectly normal. Is there an espresso bar in Hell?_

“I’m afraid I don’t have sugar-free caramel drizzle,” he said, handing her a mug topped with foam. “But I do have almond milk.” 

Their fingers brushed, and the part of her brain that wanted to make him strange and frightening quieted. “Thanks.” She handed him a plate of scrambled eggs and they settled at one end of the dining table.

For all that he’d claimed not to be hungry, Lucifer practically inhaled his food. Chloe smiled, eating more slowly. That was more like the Lucifer she knew, she thought, even if he was avoiding her gaze, looking out the window while he sipped his espresso instead.

She watched him for a few moments more before she said. “So. We should probably talk.”

He tensed. Carefully, he set the empty cup back on its saucer and folded his hands on the table. “Yes. I suppose we should.” He took a deep breath. “Detective.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “I want to be completely honest with you. I-I’m sorry I haven’t been before. But I’m an open book, now. Ask me anything you like.”

She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it. She had thought she’d ask him the big questions—heaven and hell and how it all worked, and if everything was like the Bible said, and what about the other religions of the world? Were there other gods and goddesses? Other heavens and hells?

But all of that melted away when she met his gaze, saw his earnestness and trepidation. It wasn’t what was really important. She mirrored his posture, leaning toward him on her elbows. “Will you tell me what’s been going on with you the last few weeks?”

He blinked and sat back, surprised. “That’s what you want to know?”

“Yes.” She looked down at the table, traced the wood grain with a finger while she sorted out her thoughts. “I’ve been hurt and angry. About the whole thing with Candy, and about . . . how you seemed to be going backward. Acting more like the person I met two years ago than—than who I know you to be now.”

“I hurt you,” he said softly. “I know I did. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She shook her head. “But . . . you’ve been hurting, too, and I didn’t notice. That’s why you’ve been acting the way you have. I was too angry with you to see that.” She looked up at him, found him looking at her with a small frown, puzzled.

“Detective, I . . .” The line between his brows deepened. “I hurt you. Why are you apologizing to me?”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and tried to keep her voice calm and patient. “Because I hurt you, too. This is what that message was about, wasn’t it? And what you were trying to tell me that day in the lab?”

He nodded. “After Mum hurt Linda, I realized . . .” Charlotte Richards. Right. She was part of this, too. How? Chloe pushed the thought away, focused on Lucifer again. Details could wait. “She—Linda—in the hospital, she said she’d made a choice to—to be my friend.” His voice broke on the word _friend_ , and he swallowed hard before going on. “She chose knowing who I am, and I realized I hadn’t given you that choice. I thought I had when I left, but . . .” He shook his head. “I was just choosing for you. It wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

She squeezed his hands. “And that day in the lab?”

“I was trying to show you my true face.” She frowned. “The face of the Devil, Detective. My other face. And I—I couldn’t. It was gone. _Is_ gone.” An edge of anger crept into his voice. He looked away, pressing his lips together.

“What does it look like?” Chloe asked after a moment.

“Terrifying,” he said. “Ugly. And mine.”

“Why couldn’t you show me?”

“I don’t know.” He pressed a hand against his cheek. “It’s just . . . gone.” He let his hand fall and gave his head a shake, his eyes going hard. “It has something to do with my wings, and the Sinnerman. I’m sure of that.”

Right. His wings. She frowned. “Lucifer . . .” She waited for him to come back from wherever his train of thought had taken him. When she had his focus again, she asked, “Why didn’t you show me your wings, when you couldn’t show me your face?”

He looked away, shifting his shoulders. “I couldn’t. I’d cut them off. That morning.”

The memory of his scars flashed through her mind, along her fingertips. But there were no scars on his back now, and he _had_ wings. Great, white angel wings. “But . . .”

He grimaced and shifted his shoulders again. “The bloody things keep growing back.”

“ _Keep_ growing back?” It took a moment for the implication of his statement to sink in. When it did, she stared at him with growing horror. “How—how many times have you cut them off?”

He thought about it. “I don’t know, a dozen, maybe?”

Chloe drew in a sharp breath, covering her mouth with one hand. “Lucifer, why—” She shook her head, unable to find the words. She’d seen his wings. Cutting them off would be like—like cutting off an arm or a leg. Repeatedly. “Why would you keep hurting yourself like that?”

“Because I don’t want them!” he shouted, making her start. He got himself under control with visible effort. “Because my father forced them on me to manipulate me, and I don’t want any part of his games.” His voice and his hands shook.

“How do you know it was your father?”

“Who else could it be?” he demanded. “Who else has the power to bring them back?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

He glared at her for a moment, and then his shoulders dropped, the anger draining out of him. “Nor I.”

Chloe hesitated. “Are you planning on cutting them off again?”

He shrugged.

“Lucifer . . .”

He sighed and made a placating gesture. “Not anytime soon. Not until I can be sure they won’t grow back. For now I’m just . . . trying to ignore them.”

She relaxed a little. Ignoring them was better than self-mutilation. Even better, she thought, if he could accept them, accept that part of himself, his—well, his divinity, she supposed. Not that he would, as long as he felt that it had been imposed on him.

“Is that why you’ve been acting the way you have?” she asked. “To prove you’re—”

“Not an angel?” He gave a rueful smile. “Yes. For all the good it did me.”

Chloe reached for his hand. “What you did last night, Lucifer, was . . .” She trailed off. _Good and kind_ , she was going to say, but she knew that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and wouldn’t help.

“Not very devilish?” he suggested.

She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, the part where you almost ripped that guy’s throat out looked pretty devilish to me, even without horns and a tail.”

Annoyance flashed across his features and he frowned. “I do _not_ have horns, _or_ a tail. You humans and the goat imagery, I swear—” He broke off, narrowing his eyes at her. “You’re winding me up, aren’t you.”

She grinned. “A little. But . . .” She waited for him to look at her. “You’re still _you,_ wings or no wings, angel or devil.” She smiled again. “Maybe you’re a little bit of both.”

He smiled back. “Perhaps.”

“Anyway.” She sat back in her chair. “We have work to do.”

“We do?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Sure. Sinnerman, wings, mysterious doings? I’m assuming you haven’t dropped it?”

“No.”

“Have you made any progress?”

He shook his head. “Not much.”

She smiled. “I always find a fresh pair of eyes can help move things along, don’t you?”

He hesitated just long enough to make her worry he was going to push her away again, but then he smiled and she forgot her trepidation. “I do, yes. Your perspective would be most welcome, Detective.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get to work.”


End file.
